


When The Floodgates Open Brace Your Shores

by afteriwake



Series: Welcome To The New Age [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The virus turned most of the world’s populations into mindless zombies, and there was chaos before a partial cure was found. Now life has gone back to normal for the residents of 221B Baker Street, even though John is now among the living dead. But a discovery by Molly threatens to throw everything back to how it had been in the dark days, and they all react in their own ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Floodgates Open Brace Your Shores

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doctor_WTF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_WTF/gifts).



> Doctor WTF did not give a specific prompt for this over at **sherlockmas** , but they mentioned they enjoyed end of the world fics that talked about what came after, and I couldn’t resist answering such a challenge. Title comes from lyrics in the Linkin Park song “A Light That Never Comes.”

When the virus hit, no one knew what to do. There was no vaccine, no antidote. If you got the virus and it manifested in you you were going to be a zombie in three days. You had to make your peace with it and pray someone killed you before you became a threat. If you actually became a zombie, you would hunger for flesh and kill your friends and family without hesitation. And then if they were not lucky they would become zombies as well. It was a vicious cycle that no one knew how to stop.

All the scientists in the world got to working on it immediately. It was Russia that had the real breakthrough. They were not able to stop the zombiefication process, but they could curb the need for those infected to feed on human flesh, and the mindlessness and uncontrollabe rage were gone. For all intents and purposes, the zombies were absolutely normal, except that they ate raw meat instead of regular food. But even then it was merely raw animal meat and not human flesh. Russia mass produced the drug and shipped it all over the world; they could have kept it for themselves and let the rest of the world rot, or charged an obscene amount of money and became the largest superpower in the world, but the threat was so large there was no time for greed. If it stopped the deaths in its tracks then it was in the world's best interest to act quickly. 

It brought about significant changes in the world, though. Technically the zombies were dead. Did they have rights? Were they still considered human because they still breathed and moved and talked? What would happen if the drug wore off and they reverted back? All of those were legitimate questions, and the governments in the world all had different answers. In the UK the short answer was that they were not considered humans but they still retained all the rights a human would have. And that was very important for one third of the residents at 221B Baker Street.

John had gotten infected when someone with a day left to turn bit him. The zombie had broken skin and blood and saliva had mixed. John had panicked, and when he told Sherlock he was already starting to make plans for his inevitable demise. Word of the potential stopgap had gotten to Sherlock and he frantically called Mycroft to see if they could get a hold of some of it for John. Mycroft pulled every string he could, wheedled every contact he had, and he ended up getting a vial of the serum. John was injected with it, the first human to have that happen in the whole of the UK. Everyone watched him and waited, and when he awoke the fourth day as relatively normal as an undead man could be, and stayed that way for weeks, the UK put in its orders in order to save the rest of the population. Anyone that hadn't turned was given it to stop the effects, and everyone else was given it as a vaccine to keep them from turning into one should they get bitten.

These days things were relatively normal. It was almost the same as it had been before, except John was dead and walking, and his eating habits had changed. But he was still the same man, with the same sense of humor and the same bad taste in women even if his dating pool had shrunk considerably, the same drive to help and protect others. Being the guinea pig for the serum in the UK had shone a considerable light on him, moreso than the light that had been cast on Sherlock at the height of his popularity, but it had died down now and that was a much welcome respite. So now they were back to doing what they did best, solving cases for Scotland Yard and living the life of two bachelors in a changed world.

“So what are we doing today?” John asked, six months after he was turned. He had just gotten done eating, having taken his raw meat to his room to eat because even though Sherlock could stomach a lot that was one thing that made him ill. John did not want his friend to be uncomfortable and so he ate his meals elsewhere. “Have any cases from Lestrade or Sally?”

Sherlock shook his head. Much of Scotland Yard's staff had been decimated in the epidemic, but both Lestrade and Donovan had survived. Many of those whom Sherlock had had a passing or more than passing acquaintance with had been lost before the drug was readily available, including Anderson and Dimmock, so Scotland Yard was trying to rebuild. They were one of the few organizations in England not to allow zombies in their ranks, for the safety of the public, and most people and zombies readily accepted it. They made an exception for John since he was merely a consultant, however. “No, no cases from either of them.”

“That's not what I'd hoped for,” John said with a sigh. “I'm bored. It's only been a few weeks since the media spotlight wore out. I didn't think I'd ever get back to a normal life, since I can't go back to being a doctor.”

“Just because the world as we knew it ended doesn't mean you can't make use of those skills. You can still make your way as a researcher. You were very skilled at caregiving. You can write papers on the subject. Or use yourself as a test subject and write about the long term effects of the serum.”

“That all sounds more up your alley than mine,” he replied as he shook his head.

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Well, you could always write your memoirs. People have practically been throwing offers at you with large monetary sums attached to them. You could live like a king with some of them.”

“I just might do that,” he replied. “But what would you do?”

“I'll keep myself busy.” He was going to say more but his phone began to ring. He checked the caller ID before he turned to John. “It's Molly,” he said quietly before he answered. “Hello, Molly.”

“Sherlock, I have a case for you,” she said. “Well, it's more like I have research for you to do.”

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“I had a zombie in the morgue, one that had dropped and stopped moving. No one was sure what to do with it but I was asked to do a preliminary examination and I found something interesting in the bloodwork I ran.”

“Zombies have enough blood left to do that?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes, they do. I want a second set of eyes for this. Are you willing to help?”

“Yes, of course. Are you planning on doing any invasive investigations?”

“I was hoping John might do it. I mean, he's a zombie. There's less chance of me getting harmed if I'm not digging around in a zombie corpse.”

“Of course. I will ask him if he wishes to accompany me.” He covered the mouthpiece of his phone. “John, there is a zombie who has ceased to function. Molly has done some bloodwork she wishes for me to see, but she would prefer if you do the actual autopsy.”

“Yeah, of course. It dropped down and stopped moving?”

Sherlock nodded. “Deader than usual.”

“Huh.” John came over closer. “Tell Molly I'm glad to help.”

“I will.” He uncovered the mouthpiece. “John said he'll help.”

“Great. The sooner you get down here the better. It gives me the creeps.”

“We'll be there in a half hour or so. If you feel uncomfortable, put it back in the refrigeration unit and wait for us in the cafeteria.”

“All right. Thanks, Sherlock.”

She hung up and so did he. Then he looked up at John. “It appears something is going on, John.”

“Should we be worried?”

“I'm not sure yet. I hope not, but all of this is still new. We shall have to see where the science leads us.” He stood up. “Let's get going. I get the feeling Molly would like to get this over with sooner rather than later.”

“All right.” John headed towards the door while Sherlock put on his coat and scarf. Whatever was going on had Molly spooked, and that concerned him. She was strong and not easily scared; he had seen that when they talked during his exile. So for her to feel uneasy around a deader than dead zombie concerned him. He just hoped it was not a major problem. The world did not need more bad news right now.

–

They found Molly in the hospital cafeteria about a half hour later, nursing a cup of tea. She looked very relieved to see them, but when Sherlock asked for details on what was going on she shook her head and said that she would tell him in the morgue. That reaction caused his stomach to sink slightly. Whatever it was was most likely bad news, and he got the feeling bad news here would mean bad news for the world. He just hoped it wasn't as bad as he feared it was. They made their way to the morgue, and Molly nodded towards her office. The three of them filed in and she shut the door behind them. “There was no sign of the antidote in his system,” she said when she sat down.

“Doesn't it get absorbed?” John asked.

Molly shook her head. “A few of the first zombies given the cure have allowed themselves to be used for research. Well, other than you, John. I know you didn't want to be poked and prodded that much. Well, anyway, they go in for routine blood work once a week. They check the levels of the drug. Apparently there's been a decline in their levels. Nothing worrisome, not yet, but it's there.” She handed Sherlock two sheets of paper. He glanced over them. “The results on the right are from the latest test subject who was given one of the first doses after John. The one on the left is from a zombie that a researcher here studies, who was one of the later ones to get a cure.”

“The one on the left's levels are much lower,” Sherlock said with a frown.

“And the one in my unit had none at all,” Molly said, picking up a third sheet of paper. Sherlock handed the other two to John before taking the third sheet from Molly. “I'm alarmed, but I don't want to cause a panic.”

“Why did you want to do a autopsy?” John asked, handing the two papers back to Molly as he took the third from Sherlock.

“I want to get a sample from inside the zombie for Sherlock to run, to see if there's any trace of the drug in its body at all. And while you're here, I wanted to get a blood sample from you.”

“You're thinking later samples of the drug were diluted or degraded,” Sherlock said as he looked at her.

She nodded. “I know your brother pulled strings, made sure all of us who know you well were some of the first inoculated. So I'm not worried about us or John.” Then she frowned. “But I wonder what the effects on us will be. If the vaccine will hold for us.”

“Can you get a blood sample from someone who was inoculated in a later round?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes. Asking when people got their inoculations is a standard question these days.”

“Very well. Get me those samples as quickly as you can.” Sherlock was going to say more but there was a banging in the other room. Molly's eyes got wide and Sherlock edged over to the window in the door. “Is the refrigeration unit locked?”

“Yes. Is the banging coming from the one with the zombie?”

“I believe so.” He turned to her. “Get out of here quickly. We'll take care of it.”

“If it bites you you might get infected,” she said, standing.

“She's right,” John said. “You need to leave too. I can take care of it.”

Sherlock debated for a moment, then nodded. Logically, they were right. He was used to dangerous things, but if Molly was right he couldn't afford to get bitten. They both needed to get out of the morgue and to safety. He had to hope John could handle the zombie. “Very well. We will head out together.”

“Give me your gun,” John said, holding out his hand. “A shot to the head should still take him out if he's gone back to how we used to be. Then I'll cut it off with Molly's bone saw and get you the tissue sample you need.”

“Be careful, John,” Molly said as she went over to Sherlock.

“I will be.”

Sherlock reached behind him with one hand, offering it to her to grab. She grasped it tightly, and then he flung open the door and they made a run for the other doors. As soon as they were out Sherlock looked around. He wanted something to barricade the doors, just in case. Molly realized it as soon as he stopped his running. “There's a janitorial supply closet nearby. The morgue doors open both ways, so if we barricade our side he can keep him contained for a bit.”

“Show me,” he said.

She ran down the hall a little ways, Sherlock close behind, and opened the door. Sherlock quickly scanned the contents and saw a metal pole. He grabbed it and went back to the doors. He could see the zombie had pushed his way out of the refrigeration unit and was advancing on John. Sherlock slid the pole in place between the handles but he was transfixed. He saw John aim the gun and fire directly at the zombie's head. The zombie dropped to the ground, motionless.

Molly joined him a moment later, visibly startled by the sound of the gun shot. “Is John okay?” she asked.

“I believe so,” he replied. “Your refrigeration unit is not, however.”

“I don't care about that right now. I care about John.”

“As do I,” he replied, beginning to slide the pole out of where he had it.

“No, wait,” Molly said, putting a hand on his arm. “He still needs to cut off the zombie's head, remember? For all we know the shot to the head won't work.”

Sherlock stilled. She was right. It wasn't safe yet. He removed his hands once he put it back into place. Together they stood at the door and watched as John picked the zombie up easily and put it on the table, then went for the bone saw. Molly turned away when he began to hack off it's head, moving towards Sherlock. Sherlock turned slightly, then put an arm around her shoulders and let her bury her head in his shoulder. Even though she operated on dead bodies watching something like this was obviously affecting her. If he could comfort her he would. Soon John was done and he took the head and set it on a table, using the bone saw to cut it open. Then he took a sample from the zombie's brain. Then he went to Molly's syringe kit and drew a sample of his own blood. “He's finished,” Sherlock murmured, looking down at Molly.

“I don't want to go in there,” she said.

“He's coming to us,” he replied, letting her go. She lifted her head up and looked through the windows in the door to see John coming their way with the sample and vial of blood. Sherlock slid the pole out from the door handles and opened it. “Is it no longer going to be a threat?”

“I don't think so,” John said, handing them to Sherlock. “I'm going to clean up in here, as best I can. It's going to take a while.”

“We need to tell someone what happened,” Molly replied. “When they look at the unit they'll know. It will cause a panic.”

“I can fix the unit,” John said. “For right now, let's not tell anyone except maybe Mycroft. At least until we know more.”

“All right,” Sherlock said, and Molly nodded as well. “We'll be in my lab when you're done.”

“I'll meet you there,” John said, and then he turned around and went further back into the morgue.

Molly looked at Sherlock. “This is the worst case scenario, isn't it?” she asked quietly.

“I'm afraid it might be,” he said just as quietly. If it was, if what she had stumbled upon was true, the world would go back to chaos. The cure was worthless. He did not want that at all but he feared it was inevitable, and no stopgap would help this time around. Sherlock and Molly went to his favorite lab, and the only time Molly left was to procure the other blood sample Sherlock wanted. Then she took a sample of his blood for comparison. He worked in silence, and Molly sat on a stool, keeping quiet herself. He appreciated it, because he was perplexed. Finally, after two hours, he spoke. “The levels in my blood are still high, as are John's. The level in the other blood sample is very low, however. If that patient were to get bitten I think they would turn into a zombie like the one in the morgue.”

“And the tissue sample from that zombie?” Molly asked.

“There was no trace whatsoever.” He ran a hand over his face. This was bad news, horribly bad news. There was only one thing he could do. He pulled out his cell phone and pulled up his brother's contact. He didn't wait for Mycroft to give him a greeting as soon as they were connected. “The serum isn't working in all the zombies.”

“I am aware of that,” Mycroft said.

“You knew?” Sherlock said, shock evident in his voice.

“The more recent deliveries of serums were diluted apparently. Half the country received those. There has been much research going on about it in the last week when some unsettling attacks happened.”

“Well, Molly and I nearly became the newest victims,” Sherlock said, anger overriding shock. “She was asked to do an autopsy on one of them. If she hadn't locked it in her refrigeration unit we wouldn't have made it out.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Mycroft said. Sherlock was not really mollified by his brother's apology. “Did you test your own blood levels, compare them to John's?”

“Yes. Ours are still high. We also compared blood work from someone who got their inoculation later, and their levels were low. The zombie that nearly attacked us had no trace of the serum in his system whatsoever.”

“That is troubling news. There have only been three attacks that we know of, and none here in the United Kingdom. Yours was the first. The other countries are not sharing all their data, it seems.”

“Well, I can give you all the results we have,” Sherlock replied. “And you can come pick up the body from the morgue.”

“I will have that done. Are the two of you all right?”

“Molly is a bit spooked, and very concerned.”

“Take her back to your home. It might be best if you get her a strong drink and keep an eye on her.” Mycroft paused. “If the zombie did any damage to her morgue I will ensure it is fixed.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said.

“You must keep this news to yourself. Do not tell anyone, not Lestrade, not Donovan. Not even Mrs. Hudson. This must stay between the four of us until the scientists have gotten to study things. We cannot afford a panic in the streets.”

“We can stay quiet,” he replied.

“I will contact you when we know more,” Mycroft said as John entered the room.

“Very well.” 

Mycroft paused again. “Take care, Sherlock. Be safe.”

“You as well,” he replied. Mycroft hung up first and then Sherlock lowered his phone. “It's bad news,” he said to John.

“I was afraid of that,” he said with a sigh. “How were my levels?”

“Quite high, as were mine. If we tested Molly, Mrs. Hudson and the others I wager we would find theirs high as well.” He looked at Molly. “Mycroft suggested we take you back to our home to keep an eye on you.”

“I'm not going to faint or run off to the press or anything like that,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

“He suggested a stiff drink,” he replied.

She was quiet. “I wouldn't say no to one of those right now,” she replied after a moment.

Sherlock gave her a faint smile. “I am sure John had something stashed before all this happened.”

“I have a bottle of some really good whiskey I haven't had the heart to throw away. We can get some cola to mix it with,” John said.

“I'll probably just end up having straight shots,” she said, standing up. “What about the morgue?”

“I jerry-rigged the unit as best I could,” John replied.

“Mycroft said he would have it fixed when someone comes to collect the body,” Sherlock said before turning to Molly. “Do you need to tell anyone you're leaving?”

She shook her head. “My shift ends in ten minutes. I can probably leave early and no one will say anything.”

“I put a large X on the broken door with cellophane tape, and put on a note not to use it,” John said.

“Hopefully they heed the note,” Sherlock replied. “Do you have relief coming?”

“Not for at least an hour,” she said. “There's a slight gap in our schedules since we're short a coroner right now. Why?”

“That gives Mycroft time to collect the body without causing a panic.” Sherlock picked his phone back up and tapped out a quick text message to his brother. Mycroft texted back in three minutes with an affirmative response that it would be taken care of before her relief arrived. Then he turned back to them. “I believe it would be best to return to our home now. The idea of having a stiff drink sounds appealing to me as well.”

“You two enjoy it,” John said. “At least someone will.”

“It's not exactly a festive occasion,” she said, moving towards the door. “We're going back to hell on earth. It's the end of the world all over again.” And with that, she let herself out.

“It's true, and that's what I hate the most,” John said with a sigh, following her out the door.

Sherlock followed him, shutting the door behind him. This was going to put them all in a dour mood, and he was not sure what would happen next. He just had the distinct idea that whatever it was, it would not be pleasant.

They got into a cab outside St. Bart's and Sherlock gave directions for them to be taken to 221B Baker Street. It was a quiet ride, with everyone conversing about meaningless things when they spoke at all, which was not often. Molly was quieter than most, and this concerned Sherlock greatly. He had never seen her like this. She had been the eternal optimist, the one who believed that love could heal, that people were generally good. That had dimmed considerably during the first epidemic. Now, with the news that had received, he wondered if the side he had grown to appreciate, the side of her that he might even go so far as to say he loved, would ever come back. This woman before him seemed dejected and depressed, yes, but she also looked as though she had lost hope, and that was never a good thing. Even he held hope, but it was thin and wavering at times. Tonight he decided it must be firm, if not for Molly's sake than his own.

When they got into the sitting room Molly sat down on the couch and pulled her knees up to her chin. Sherlock busied himself with fixing their drinks while John went into his room to eat. He had said the events in the morgue had taken a lot out of him and he would rest after he had eaten his fill. So when Sherlock was done pouring the drinks he took them out to the sitting room, handing one to Molly before he sat down on the other side of her. He watched her take the shot of whiskey and tip it back into her mouth, downing it in seconds. “We should probably bring the bottle over,” she said. “I want to get very pissed today.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Sherlock said, drinking his own shot. He stood and went back into the kitchen and brought the mostly full bottle out to them. Then he refilled her glass before refilling his own. He lifted it up. “We should toast.”

“You mean list all the things that are going to go wrong again?” she said, looking at him. He nodded. She held up her shot glass. “To never knowing when your zombie friends are going to start coming after you.”

“Cheers,” Sherlock said, tapping his glass against hers.

“Cheers sounds so wrong,” Molly said before downing her shot. “World's ending would be better.”

Sherlock nodded before drinking his shot. He refilled their cups again. When he was done he held his glass up. “To worrying if the best man you know will turn into a mindless monster and eat you in your sleep.”

“World's ending,” Molly said, tapping her glass against his. Sherlock once again refilled the glasses, and Molly held hers up. “To nearly getting killed today and finding out all those people who thought they were safe really aren't.”

Sherlock tapped his glass to hers. “World's ending.” He downed his shot.

“Are we all safe? Really?” she asked, looking at her glass. She had not drank yet, and was instead swirling the liquid around. “I mean, us and John and Mrs. Hudson and all. Mycroft and Greg and Sally. All of them are my friends, and I don't want to lose them.”

“I will find a way to keep us safe,” he said. “I can promise you that.”

“How?”

“I don't know. I won't lose you. Any of you.”

“It sweet that you say that, but realistically, how are you going to make sure that happens?”

“I will find a way.” He looked at the bottle and poured out a larger measure. “I will not fail you.”

“Do you mean us?” she asked, taking her shot and setting the empty glass back on the table.

Sherlock downed his shot and shook his head before refilling her glass. “No. I mean you. I made you the promise and I will not fail you.”

She nodded, then picked up the shot. “To being utterly timid as a mouse and not going after what I want, and now it's probably too late.” She downed the shot almost immediately.

“World's ending,” Sherlock said, pouring himself a shot. He drank it slowly this time. Then he poured them both another drink. “To not seeing what was in front of you, even though you should have.”

“Sherlock, are we talking about the end of the world right now, or are we talking about us?” she asked.

“That one goes both ways,” he said, downing his shot. He looked at Molly. “You're one behind me, you know. You'll never get pissed that way.” She set her shot on the table in front of the sofa, then leaned over and took his shot before putting that on the table as well. He leaned back against the arm of the sofa slightly. “What are you doing?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” she said as she looked at him. “I'm going to kiss you.”

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “And I'm going to let you?”

She nodded. “Yes, you are.” She moved closer to him, and rather draped her upper body over his when he turned to face her. Their faces were inches apart when she looked him square in the eye. “I will do at least one thing I wanted before I die.”

“You won't die,” he murmured. “I won't let you.”

“Death is there for everyone. All that happens is it gets delayed,” she said quietly, leaning in more. After a moment her lips touched his. She tasted like whiskey, and he supposed he did too. He had thought about this, as a possibility, but the actual experience surprised him. He wanted more. He reached up and cradled the back of her head while he sat up more, and then he deepened the kiss. He could feel her nearly melt against him, and he also felt her tongue slip out of her mouth to touch his teeth. He opened his mouth a little wider and she got more aggressive. This...this he liked. This he approved of. Little mousy Molly Hooper, the woman most men gave no notice to, declaring by action that she wanted him. It was almost enough to make him feel that he could take on the world. He sat up more and began to bend her back. When her head touched the arm of the couch he moved over her more, careful not to put his full weight on her. The kiss had stayed deep, and he regretfully pulled away after a moment to breathe.

She looked up at him, a bit breathless, her eyes wide. “I didn't think you'd kiss me back,” she said, her voice soft and slightly throaty.

“I had thought about it before,” he said. “When I was away. What it would be like to kiss you. I imagined it going many different ways.”

“And how did this compare to your imagination?” she asked, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt.

“That was far better than anything I could have come up with.” He grinned down at her for a moment and got a grin in return. Then she snaked her hand around to the back of his head and pulled him in for another kiss, a more passionate one this time. He used his free hand to glide along her side, hitching her jumper and shirt up with his thumb. She retaliated by beginning to undo the buttons on his shirt. She stopped for a moment and ran her hands down his chest. When she got to the top of his trousers she pulled his shirt up and then began to work on the rest of the buttons. He pulled away and sat up, and she looked concerned as she sat up more. Then he pulled her up and with a swift movement pulled the jumper and her shirt off in one fell swoop, tossing them to the side. She was left just in her bra and skirt at that point.

As soon as she could she pushed his suit jacket and the shirt off his shoulders, and while he was able to get out of the jacket fairly easily he struggled to shrug out the shirt. Finally he undid the cuffs and he was able to get it off. Then he put an arm around her back and pulled her close until she was practically in his lap. He kissed her again, a passionate kiss, and she responded in kind. She clung to his shoulders, digging her nails into his flesh slightly, and he retaliated by nibbling on her bottom lip for a moment before pulling away from the kiss to nip at her pulse point. She arched slightly, pressing her still covered breasts more into his bare chest. He did not want that. He wanted to feel her without restrictions. He reached around to undo the bra class, his fingers fumbling for a moment before he got it off. She pulled her upper body away, slid the straps down her arms and then tossed the bra to the side.

“We should go somewhere more private,” he murmured, moving back to her neck when she pressed herself against him. “I don't want to be walked in on.”

“Where should we go?” she asked, shutting her eyes and tilting her head back to give him better access. He bit harder that time, and a moan escaped her lips.

“My bedroom is down the hall,” he replied. “Do you think we can make it there?”

“We can try, but if we don't I don't really care where we end up,” she said breathlessly.

He disentangled himself from her and stood, offering her his hand. She stood as well and then he pulled her close and kissed her deeply, and she put her arms around his neck as he started to move them. He knew this room well and could easily navigate his way to his own bedroom. He had never done it with two people, though, and at one point in the hallway he turned too early and Molly's back slammed into the wall. She kept him close, and after a moment she lowered her arms and moved her hands to the button and zipper of his trousers. She undid them and then pushed the waistband down, leaving him in his pants. He stepped out and kicked them to the side.

Molly had worn a skirt that day, and he pushed it up around her waist. Then he took his fingers and hooked them into the waistband of her knickers. Slowly he pulled them down, and when he got them below her knees she shimmied slightly and they fell to the floor. He straightened back up, trailing a finger along her inner thigh as he did. When he got to her cunt he slid one long finger into her, and her knees buckled. She retaliated by biting his shoulder, and in retaliation to that he slipped a second finger into her. She removed her teeth from his shoulder and tilted her head back as he added a third, stretching her slightly and filling her at the same time. He moved them in and out at a leisurely pace at first, but when her hips bucked slightly he quickened the pace. Finally he used his thumb to toy with her clit, pressing it in just the right way, and then he could feel her shudder around his fingers. He waiting until it stopped before he used his other hand to tilt her head back down. When he moved his fingers from inside her he quickly pulled off his pants and pressed his bare cock against her. “Let me lift you up. Then wrap your legs around my waist,” he said, his voice slightly husky. She nodded but did as she was told. He positioned himself at her entrance, then pushed inside her.

She gasped and moaned in the same breath. She was tight, but definitely not a virgin. He pulled out a bit, then slowly pushed his way back in. She was still sensitive from the first orgasm, and when she dug her nails into his shoulders he had to work very hard to keep control. He quickened the pace, a bit at a time, until he was nearly pounding into her. To her credit she hung onto him, head tilted back and eyes shut. When he felt her begin to convulse again he knew that, soon enough, he would have his own release. The convulsions around him got stronger and that was all he needed. He surged into her one more time, deeply, and then his release took over as hers finished. And then it was done. They were both panting slightly, and he hung his head slightly against her breast.

“I haven't done that...ever,” she said, her eyes wide.

“I have,” he said with a faint smile at her surprised expression. “A long time ago.”

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He moved one hand up to pull her forward and he gave her a deep, leisurely kiss which she readily returned. “I would never laugh at you,” he said when he pulled away.

“Good.” She grinned at him. “I can't wait for round two.”

“It might take some time for me to recover,” he said with a slight chuckle.

“The world is ending and I just had the best shag ever,” she mused. “The timing couldn't be worse, but if I have to die at least I'll die happy.”

He sobered slightly. “I promised I wouldn't let anything happen to you,” he said.

“I know,” she said quietly. “We should probably go clean up.”

“That would be a good idea,” he said. He pulled out of her completely. “Perhaps we can share a shower?”

“I would like that very much,” she said, unlocking her legs from around his waist. “You lead the way.”

He reached over and took her hand. Even though the world was going to hell in a handbasket, at least something good had come out of it. And as he caught the smile on Molly's face, he had hope that maybe Molly would have a better outlook on what the future could hold. The renewed optimism might not last, but it would be a welcome respite for as long as it did.

–

Molly did not go home that night. John did not emerge from his room, so Molly and Sherlock made themselves something to eat, ignoring the whiskey they had been drinking. There were stolen glances and stolen kisses, and soon dinner was ignored for round two. This time they made it to the bedroom, and when they were done they curled up together, Molly's back to his chest and his arm draped around her bare waist, and they slept. Sherlock awoke first, when the first rays of morning filtered through his curtains. He was surprised he had gotten as much sleep as he did. Normally he slept for no more than four hours, but he had been asleep for nearly eight. It had also been some of the most restful sleep he had had in a long time.

At some point in their sleeping Molly had turned to face him, and her face was buried in the crook of his neck. He began stroking her hair back, then trailing his fingers lightly down her back. It had been a very long time since he had been in this situation, many years since he was a green teenager in love for the first time, but the memories came back to him easily. He had turned himself into a human robot to protect his heart, but ever since John people had been worming their way in. Maybe one day he would tell them both the story, but not today.

“That feels nice,” she murmured, half asleep. He smiled a bit at that, continuing the motions of his hand. She edged closer, pressing herself against him. Then she lifted her head up and looked at him for a moment before leaning in and kissing him, a kiss that was intended to be soft but quickly became more passionate. She pulled away only when she needed to breathe. “I think you're ready for round three,” she said with a slightly impish grin

“I think I am too,” he said, pulling her back in for another kiss. She rolled them over slightly so she was on top, and just when she was going to explore a bit there was a knock at the door. He sighed. Whoever was on the other side was going to put a damper on his morning. “Yes?” he asked a bit loudly, obviously coming across as cross.

“We need to talk,” Mycroft said from the other side. “All four of us. Only John doesn't seem to be here.”

Sherlock and Molly both sat up more, giving each other a look. “Do you know where he is?” he asked.

“I'll let you read his note,” he said. “When the two of you are dressed you can join me in the sitting room.”

“How did he know I was in here?” Molly asked, her voice nearly a hiss.

“He's the government. I wouldn't be surprised if he looks at who comes and goes from my home and he noticed you didn't leave. When he didn't see you asleep on the sofa the only logical assumption was that you and I were sharing a bed. That would mean one of two things. I'm honestly surprised he assumed we had shagged off the bat. He seems to think I'm a virgin.”

“There are times he really unnerves me,” she said quietly, getting off of Sherlock. She got out of the bed and began looking for her clothing. “Where is my jumper?” she asked, picking up her very wrinkled shirt.

“Probably out in the sitting room. You may wear one of my shirts, if you like. It's less wrinkled.” He went to his dresser and handed her one of his T-shirts, then watched her get dressed, enjoying the view for a moment. When she was nearly finished he stopped watching and began to get dressed himself, knowing full well she was watching him intently. Any time he glanced in her direction he saw she had a self-satisfied smile on her face. Finally they were both dressed and they made their way out to the sitting room. Mycroft was sitting at the table, a piece of paper in front of him. He had made tea, and there were cups waiting for Sherlock and Molly. “He went off to be studied,” Mycroft said, pushing the note towards Sherlock once he sat down. “The note explains it a bit more.” Sherlock picked up the note, reading it in its entirety.

_Sherlock and Molly,_

_So I did some thinking while the two of you were doing what you were doing (which if it was what I thought it was, next time you shouldn't be so loud). I was the first zombie here to get the serum. I really should consent to be studied, see if there's anything we can do to help all the poor bastards who got the diluted serum. It's better than sitting around and waiting to see if I get worse, if I become a mindless monster and hurt you and anyone else I'm close to. If I do slip to how I should have been, at least there I won't put you in danger._

_You two are good together. You should have realized it years earlier, but it's better late than never, right? Take care of each other in case I don't come back or I get worse. Keep each other safe. I mean it, Sherlock. If anything happens to her I'll come after you, mindless zombie or not. Keep Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and Sally safe, too. And Mycroft as well, I suppose. You need your family, Sherlock, even if he can be an insufferable git at times. I owe him this existence, so you need to keep him safe for that reason alone._

_It's been good, Sherlock. No, it's been better than good. It's been great, even with all the danger and the lies of your faked death. And Molly, it's been an absolute pleasure. I'm glad I met you both. You've both made me a better man, even though I'm not really a man anymore. Don't try and contact me; it's best if you just accept me for dead and don't try looking for me. I'll probably spend whatever time I have left on this earth being poked and prodded, but if I can help it's worth it, right? Greater good and all that. I'm going to miss you both, though. Don't think that I won't._

_With best regards,_  
_John_

Sherlock handed the note to Molly and looked at his brother. “So what is going to happen to him?”

“He's going to be studied. I took the research you had done. His levels are quite high. The government scientists are going to try and see what they can divine from his blood and tissue, see if we can make a more potent version of the serum. Unless he turns, he will be comfortable until the crisis is over.” Mycroft looked down. “He didn't need to do this. The government is thankful.”

“They should be,” Sherlock murmured. He could understand why he did it. He knew, logically, it was the best thing to happen if there was any hope to stave off another epidemic. But logic didn't help him with the immense feeling of loss he had. John was his best friend, and now there was the chance he would never see him again. It hurt, very deeply. Molly must have noticed, because as soon as she was done reading the note she reached over and grasped his hand, and he held it tightly. “What do we do?”

“Nothing more than you have been doing. Nothing needs to change, for the moment. If things get worse, we'll find a way to protect you.” He looked over at Molly. “No one will send zombies who unexpectedly stop moving to you again, or any pathologist for that matter. They will go directly to the government for containment and testing.”

“I still don't feel very safe,” she replied.

“If it makes you feel better, neither do I,” Mycroft said quietly. “These could be isolated cases, or it could be the beginning of another epidemic. We will not know until more time has passed.” He stood at that point. “For now, return to your normal lives, as best you can. If things change, I will contact you both. I will get you and those you care for to safety, or at least as much safety as we are able to provide.”

“Thank you, Mycroft,” Sherlock said.

“Yes. Thank you,” Molly replied. Mycroft turned and left at that point, and they watched until he left the room. Then Molly turned to Sherlock. “I don't know if I can go back to a normal life, not now.”

“We must try,” he said, shifting his grip on her hand so her fingers were laced through his. “Do you want to go back to being a pathologist?”

“Not really. Not after yesterday.”

“You could always help me,” he said. “I am a paid consultant without an assistant now.”

“I might do that,” she said with a nod. “I just...after yesterday, I don't want to take the risk. I don't want to end up with someone who died and comes back as a mindless zombie. I don't think I could bear that happening to me. Or to you.”

“I won't let it,” he said. “If for no other reason than because John is demanding it.”

“You would do anything he asks, wouldn't you?” she asked with a faint smile.

“You as well,” he said.

She stood and let go of his hand, then framed his face with both of hers. “I would do anything for you, too,” she said before kissing him softly. When she pulled away she looked at him. “Let's go back to bed, shall we?”

He nodded as she pulled her hands away. “All right.” He stood, and she took his hand again. Life would have to resume as best it could. Perhaps John's sacrifice of a normal life, or as normal as he could have had, would bring about a breakthrough. He had to pray that it would, because the alternative was so much worse. And as Molly led them back to his room, he knew then that his future would be at least a little bit brighter with her in it in this way, and that would give him hope. That was something they would sorely need as time went on.


End file.
